


Sick Day

by rooonil_waazlib



Series: And Beyond [3]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-05
Updated: 2016-02-05
Packaged: 2018-05-18 09:40:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5923654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rooonil_waazlib/pseuds/rooonil_waazlib
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There, in the big leather recliner that looks out over the water, Adrienne is curled up in Bucky’s lap, swaddled in blankets, both asleep. Steve wants to draw them, wants to capture the ease with which they fit together, the gentleness with which Bucky holds his daughter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sick Day

**Author's Note:**

> I've been promising/teasing this on [my Tumblr](http://rooonil-waazlib.tumblr.com/) for like a couple of months now and it's finally done! 14 pages/6000 words later and I can't keep looking at it anymore.
> 
> As always, [my beta](http://buckywantsafucky.tumblr.com) is amazing!

It had been snowing when Steve had left home this morning. Just, not like this. While he’d been on the train into Manhattan from Brooklyn, somehow, the storm had whipped itself up, and he steps out of the M line station at Lex and 53rd into total whiteness.

He had been sniffling when he’d left home. By the time he gets to the Barneses’, he’s sneezing. He steels himself as he unlocks the door, preparing for Adrienne to barrel into his legs and for Bucky to send him home.

The door swings open. Nothing happens.

Maybe Ada’s had a nightmare. The last time Steve had been greeted by silence, that’s what had been going on.

He steps in, kicks off his shoes and drops his bag, checking the den as he pulls off his jacket and hat. Heading through the kitchen and grabbing a tissue, he’s pulled up short in the doorway to the living room. There, in the big leather recliner that looks out over the water, Adrienne is curled up in Bucky’s lap, swaddled in blankets, both asleep. Steve wants to draw them, wants to capture the ease with which they fit together, the gentleness with which Bucky holds his daughter.

Coughing, he turns and wanders back to the kitchen to get the coffeemaker going and grab a bite to eat.

He’s slicing a banana into his oatmeal, the coffee _splot-splot-splotting_ as it percolates, when a noise makes him turn. Bucky’s rubbing one eye, leaning against the doorway.

“That coffee I smell?” he asks, his voice scratchy.

Steve nods, turns and pours out a mug. He walks it over, and Bucky takes it from him, not looking away from his face the whole time. “Nightmare?” Steve asks.

Bucky’s eyebrows pinch together for a second, grey eyes on Steve. “Oh—Ada, you mean?” He jerks a thumb over his shoulder, back to the living room. “No, actually. She’s got that cold that’s going around. She gave it to you, too, huh?”

“Feels like it,” Steve agrees, backing off and grabbing his oatmeal. He’s hoping he can play off the blush as part of this cold. “How are you feeling?”

“Me? Oh, fine, I’m fine.”

This is how it’s been for months now, since November. Since Bucky had kissed him. Since Steve’d rejected him.

Thing is, it had been—easier, in a way. By that point, Steve had already been totally gone for Bucky. But he’d been afraid of losing his job and leaving Adrienne in the lurch, so he’d pushed Bucky away when he’d kissed him.

With Bucky looking at him now, eyes serious and steady and thoughtful, Steve thinks about walking over there and trying it again. But. It’s been two months. Bucky’s probably moved on.

Anyway, Steve’s sick.

He coughs, snarfles back the mucus that’s building in his nose. “Look, you should head to work,” he says. Bucky’s eyebrows tick up over his coffee mug. “I mean, you’ll probably get sick anyway, but—maybe not. The less exposure, the better. Right?”

“Yeah, I guess,” Bucky says. He nods, slowly, and straightens up, looking down into his coffee. “Guess I should…go get dressed.”

When he returns, Steve’s kneeling next to Adrienne’s sleeping form, checking her temperature. She’s warmer than she should be, but that may be because of the blanket she’s snuggled up in. Up here, the windows are bright white, nothing to see but the snowflakes bouncing off the glass, occasionally sticking and melting.

“I’ve, um,” Bucky says, and Steve turns to look at him, hand still on Ada’s cheek. He’s got Adrienne’s favorite stuffed rabbit, Kite, in one hand. “I’ve pulled out the kids’ Motrin to keep her fever down, and…and the adult stuff, too. For you. And some canned soup. I thought I had some of my mom’s matzah ball soup in the freezer but—I guess not.”

Steve nods, gets to his feet, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “Thanks. You sure you need to get to work today? It’s pretty nasty out there.”

Snorting, Bucky runs a hand through his hair. “Twenty minutes ago you were telling me to save myself,” he points out.

“Yeah, but—it’s only getting worse out there.”

Bucky smiles at him, and Steve can’t help but smile back. “Thanks for being worried. I’ll be fine. I do actually need to be in today.” He walks closer, and Steve swallows, waits. They’re watching each other, Bucky making his way nearer—Steve can smell him, can see the hint of brown in his eyes—and then he’s past him, crouching next to his daughter.

Letting the tension in his shoulders wind away, Steve wipes the drip at his nose and shuffles off to the kitchen. On the counter, Bucky’s left a couple of pill bottles, four cans of chicken noodle soup, an unopened box of tissues and a bag of cough drops.

He pours himself a coffee and pops two Advil, then goes to get his sketchbook out of his bag. Bucky is behind him when he turns again.

“Good luck out there,” he says.

“Thanks, yeah, thanks,” Bucky replies, walking over and pulling on his boots. He sits down to lace them up. “Uh, good luck with Sickie in there. She’s…a handful when she’s sniffly.”

Steve laughs and gets out of the way of the door. “I’ll keep that in mind. See you tonight.”

-

It’s dark in the condo by four in the afternoon, the windows inky grey. By that point, Steve and Adrienne have watched five movies, eaten three of the cans of soup, and gone through most of the box of tissues.

“How are you feeling, kiddo?” Steve asks. He’s not sure that feeling her forehead will work—he doesn’t feel so great himself, and he thinks his body’s thermometer isn’t working right. But it’s been three and a half hours since he’d fed her any Motrin, so she’s probably on a downkick.

She coughs a little, then shrugs, her body curled up around Kite. He tugs at one of her ankles. “Starshine?”

“My throat hurts,” she finally mumbles, “And I’m tired.”

“I know, sweetie.” Wrapping his blanket around his shoulders, he gets up. “How about a little more medicine and some water, then you should get some sleep.”

Truth be told, he’d love to get some rest too; so once he’s got them both medicated and hydrated, he stretches out on the couch and lets Adrienne curl up in the space under his arm. He drifts off, wondering when Bucky’s planning on getting home.

There’s a cold hand sliding through his hair when he wakes. He’s burning up, he’s hot and cold and his brain feels like fuzz and—he manages to get his eyes open.

“You look like shit,” Bucky says. He’s grinning, leaning over Steve and Adrienne. She’s still asleep against Steve’s belly, her soft breath hot and dry against his arm.

“Feel like it, too,” Steve agrees, tipping his head into the coolness of Bucky’s fingers. He closes his eyes again; he just wants to go back to sleep, stay here forever. “What time is it? How long did it take you to get home?”

Bucky’s voice is soft when he speaks next, and does Steve imagine feeling Bucky’s thumb tracing his ear? “It’s almost seven. I think you should stay the night, it’ll take you hours to get home through this.”

“Sounds great.” He smiles a little when he hears Bucky’s laughter. Reaching up, he opens his eyes again when his hand hits something solid.

Bucky’s there, leaning over him, and Steve’s definitely feverish. If he wasn’t, he wouldn’t rub Bucky’s sleeve between his fingers, wouldn’t stroke the backs of his knuckles over Bucky’s cheek. He certainly wouldn’t lick his lips and mumble, “Why d’you have to be so hard to get over?”

Bucky just looks at him for so long that Steve pulls Adrienne near and shuts his eyes again. He’s starting to think that it’s time to go back to sleep when the hand in his hair grips just a little bit harder.

Then Bucky kisses him, and he flails his hand around until he finds purchase against Bucky’s shoulder. It’s like he’s thirsty and Bucky is cool clear water; like Bucky’s the earth and Steve’s the moon, orbiting around him; and holy shit, he must be totally fucked up. This isn’t even supposed to happen.

“Wait,” he manages, pulling back. “Wait, wait wait _wait_ , we—can’t. You’ll get sick. You’ll—we’re not supposed to.”

“Why not,” whispers Bucky, right up against his mouth, and Steve can feel his breath. “Why shouldn’t we?”

And that’s the moment—of course it is—that Ada stirs, that she whines high through her nose and—“Tateh?”

“That’s why,” Steve breathes.

Eyes still on him, full of—hurt? Confusion?—something, anyway, Bucky sits back, and Steve feels his arm shove under Ada’s body and then up between them. “Yeah, hi, malkeleh,” he murmurs, and places a loud smacking kiss on her temple. “How you feeling, baby? When’s the last time you ate?”

“We had lunch,” Steve supplies when Ada doesn’t speak. “She’s probably due for some more Motrin.”

“And you?”

“Me, too.” Once Bucky’s lifted Adrienne up into his arms, Steve sits up, then crouches over, putting his head between his knees as it begins to pound. “Yeah, I could use some more Advil.”

“Alright,” Bucky says, and he gets to his feet, still holding his daughter, whose arms are now wound tight around his neck. “Let’s get the two of you fed and hydrated and into bed. Sound good?”

He walks away, and Steve grinds his knuckles into his sticky-dry eyes and gets up too.

-

Steve doesn’t sleep well. Whether it’s because he’s sick or because he’s replaying the evening in his mind, he spends a lot of time staring at the guest bedroom ceiling. In a way he thinks that maybe he should have just risked the storm, because in the morning he’ll have to face Bucky.

The window goes light around 7:30, and Steve abandons all pretense that he’s sleeping and decides to get up. It’s Saturday, so he’s not even supposed to be working; he’ll just sneak out, leave a note, let Bucky know he’d had somewhere else to be.

It’s a big fat lie, but he’ll have to live with that.

He splashes some water over his face, rinses his mouth and pulls on his shirt, scratching at the day-old scruff at his chin. The condo is still when he steps out of the room, and he tiptoes toward the kitchen so he can grab a couple of tissues for his trip home.

He almost groans when he gets there; it’s just his luck that Bucky’s up already, chopping carrots.

“Morning,” Bucky says, glancing up and then back to his cutting board. He looks like he hasn’t slept all night. He waves the knife in the direction of the coffeemaker. “Coffee’s on. I’m making soup. For Adrienne. And you, if you want any.”

Steve swallows. “Oh. Thanks.” He hesitates, unsure of what to do now; he doesn’t want to stay, not when he’s made such a damn fool of himself, but leaving now…well, it’s cowardly. “Do you—need a hand?”

Bucky nods to the grocery bag sitting on the counter. “There’s a roasted chicken in there—you could start shredding the meat off it, throw it in the pot.” There’s something…not quite right about his voice. It’s a little detached, a little chilly.

“Um,” Steve agrees, walking over and peeking into the bag. He pulls out the chicken and brings it over to the stove, grabbing another cutting board and turning the chicken out of its box onto it. He stares at it for a second, listening to the _shtok-shtok_ of Bucky’s knife, and then he turns. “Look. I’m sorry. About last night.”

He doesn’t look up. “I get it,” he finally replies. “You care more about Adrienne. I get that.”

“I—no, I—” Staring at the side of Bucky’s head, Steve can’t think of what to say. “If this was going to happen—I’d have to quit. It’d be only right. But Adrienne needs me.”

“Full of yourself, aren’t you?” Bucky snaps, and he’s suddenly shaking so hard that he has to put down his knife. “We got along just fine before you.”

The curve of his neck is tense; he’s still looking down at the carrots on his cutting board. Steve watches as his jaw clenches. “You told me yourself: her nightmares have been better since I’ve been around.”

Quick, quicker than Steve had expected, Bucky whips around. “She—”

“She _likes_ me,” Steve continues. “She wants another adult in her life besides just you. And she wants it to be me.”

“You think I don’t know that?” Bucky’s almost yelling now, looking like he’s on the verge of tears. “You think I don’t honestly _get_ that my kid’s lonely? That I’m not—not good enough? I know, I fucking _know_. So I’m trying to do right for her, and for me, and—just—” he blinks, and in that second something happens and he deflates, looking tiny and lonely and broken. When he speaks again, his voice is rough and small. “If you don’t want to be with me, that’s fine. But just…just tell me that. Don’t use my daughter as an excuse.”

Steve’s throat aches, and not from the cold. “Do you only want me because of her?”

“No.” A tear trembles on Bucky’s lower lashes. “I mean. It helps. But. I want—I want you anyway.”

For a second, Steve hesitates. This could go very, very wrong, or very, very right. “I quit,” he finally says. Bucky’s mouth opens but Steve’s already there, crowding into his space, and Bucky whines and leans up to kiss him.

It feels like Steve’s been walloped in the chest; he gets a hand into Bucky’s hair and lets himself be backed against the counter. He tips his head, opens his mouth a little, and _oh_ , Bucky takes the hint and pushes forward again, gets his thigh between Steve’s and fits their hips together. Steve can feel the heat of him through their clothes, moans as he bites at Steve’s lip and—

And Steve really needs to blow his nose.

Reluctantly, he drops his chin, breaking the kiss. Bucky rubs his nose over his cheek, kisses the corner of his mouth. “What?” Bucky breathes, his warm breath making Steve shiver. “What is it?”

“You’re going to get sick.”

Huffing a laugh, Bucky leans harder against him and runs his tongue along the ridge of Steve’s teeth. “Honey, it’s too late for me.”

All Steve wants to do is fall into him, crawl into him and latch onto his ribcage and never let go. But he pushes Bucky away, gently. He looks like sin itself, his mouth wet and red and panting, hair disheveled. Steve grabs him by the back of the neck and pulls him in tight again. “When I’m healthy again,” he promises, and bites at Bucky’s earlobe, “I’ll let you do whatever you want to me.”

When he pulls back, Bucky is staring at him, breathing hard through his mouth. His pupils are so big his eyes look black. Steve gives him a very obvious once-over, then steps around him. Behind him, Bucky slumps against the countertop.

“I’m going to check on Ada.”

-

By the afternoon, Steve can tell Bucky’s trying to hide his coughing. He’s still feeling pretty crap himself, and Adrienne’s been only a shadow of herself all day. But when Bucky begins to sniffle, Steve turns to glare at him.

Bucky smirks back at him from across the sofa and kicks lightly at Steve’s foot. “Yeah, yeah, no need to lecture me,” he says, sounding distinctly stuffed-up. He sits up, still holding a listless Adrienne, who moans a little against his shirt. “I know, sweetie. I know. Steve’s going to take you for a little bit, okay? And I’m going to run out and pick up a few things.”

Opening his arms, Steve kisses the top of Ada’s head when Bucky passes her over. “I want you to stay,” Ada whines, although she’s already wrapped a hand around Steve’s finger.

Steve watches as Bucky leans over and kisses her forehead; after a second he turns and kisses Steve’s forehead, too. Steve smiles and can’t stop looking at him. “I won’t be long, sugar,” he murmurs. “You and Steve can stay here and watch _Frozen_ , how about that? And I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

Almost as soon as Bucky leaves, Adrienne shuffles around on Steve’s chest so she’s looking up at him. “Steve,” she says, “Are you going to be my new mommy?”

Steve’s belly sort of curls on itself, and he can’t help but grin at her. They haven’t told her yet that he’s not her nanny anymore; for the moment, he doesn’t think he should break the news. Instead he traces his thumb over her eyebrow. “Maybe, starshine, maybe.”

Despite her stuffed nose, she giggles and squirms. “ _Steeeeve!_ Yay! We have to have a sleepover!”

“Okay, alright, Ada. When you feel better, we’ll have a sleepover,” Steve laughs. She just beams at him. He rubs his knuckle over her jaw and, slowly, she settles into the touch. “Get some sleep, sweet. Your Tateh will be back when you wake up.”

-

Out the window, the sky is clear, finally, going purple as night begins to fall. Bucky comes home with a grocery bag full of sports drinks and grapefruits and Steve gets up, leaving Adrienne in a snoozing heap on the couch, to help him put it all away.

“You think you’ve got enough vitamin C?” Steve asks.

Bucky laughs, sounding worse than he had when he’d left. “Mm. Gotta get better fast, you know? I got shit to look forward to.” He opens one of the bright blue drinks and takes several big gulps, raking his eyes up Steve’s body as he does. Steve feels his ears go red. “You blush so pretty.”

Against his will, Steve’s face darkens some more. He isn’t sure how long he’s been smiling at Bucky. Chewing on his lip, he scratches at the back of his head. “Um. I should probably—run home,” he says, trying not to cave when Bucky’s face falls. “No, look—I just, I want to brush my teeth. Have a shower. Change my clothes. Maybe shave. I can—I can come back tomorrow. If you need help.”

“Oh,” Bucky says, and tips his head. “Yeah, okay. I mean—you can borrow all that stuff. If you want. You don’t have to. But you can stay. If…if you want to.”

Steve surveys him for a moment; Bucky fidgets with the lid for his drink, looking like he’s trying not to squirm. “I’m not going to have sex with you tonight,” Steve says, smiling. “I told you: when everyone’s healthy again.”

“No, yeah, I—I know,” Bucky agrees. He’s blushing, now, too. “You can even—you can have the guest room again. No expectations.”

He looks so earnest that Steve can’t help himself, coming around the bar. Bucky swivels on his stool to look at him, and Steve plants his hands on his thighs and leans in to kiss him.

Immediately, Bucky cups the back of Steve’s neck in his hand, scooting forward on his stool so that his knees bracket Steve’s body. Steve thinks Bucky might be running a fever; his mouth is hot, blood-hot, fire-hot inside, and he groans a little and slides his hands up to clutch at Bucky’s hips. One of Bucky’s heels hooks around the back of Steve’s knee.

When they part, Bucky clears his throat, looking up into Steve’s eyes. “I mean. No expectations, right, but if you _happen_ to visit my bedroom tonight, I—well, I wouldn’t kick you out.” He laughs, almost hysterically, and rubs his hand up Steve’s forearm, then presses Steve away and clears his throat again. “Okay. Let me go get you—um, some sweats.”

Oh, Steve might have to take a cold shower.

-

Steve feels much better once he’s showered, although to be honest he hadn’t had the energy to bother denying himself a hot shower or a quick jerk. Now, dressed in a pair of sweats that are just a bit too wide at the waist, and a shirt that’s just a bit too narrow across the shoulders, he pads back out to the kitchen. Ada’s still asleep on the sofa.

“Look at you,” Bucky croons, turning from the stove. Steve determinedly does not blush under Bucky’s hot gaze. “Let me get you something else to wear. I don’t want you hulking out and ripping my favorite shirt.”

The zip-front hoodie he comes back with is soft and heathered purple, and Steve pulls off the shirt to swap. Bucky gropes in mid-air to take the shirt back, too busy ogling Steve to watch his hands. “I see this thing’s going to be based on mutual respect and compatibility,” Steve jokes.

“Huh? Oh. Uh. Sorry,” Bucky replies, looking away, cheeks bright red; it’s nice, Steve thinks, to see him flustered. It’s a pretty good look on him. He pulls on the hoodie and zips it, but not all the way. Let Bucky suffer a little; how many days had his skinny jeans distracted Steve, after all? Steve snickers, and Bucky grins sheepishly. “You get it, right? You get what you look like?”

“No,” Steve says, widening his eyes. His innocent look had never worked on his mother, but pretty much everyone else falls for it. Okay, except Natasha. “Why? What do I look like?”

“What? You—” Bucky stops, narrows his eyes, then snorts and bangs Steve’s shoulder with his own as he walks past, laughing. “God, you’re an asshole.”

Reaching out, Steve grabs him, pulling him around and straight into a kiss. Bucky stumbles into him, the heat of his body leaching through their clothes. He puts his hand against Steve’s chest, above the zip, and Steve tips his head and holds him close.

Finally, Bucky pulls back, just far enough to breathe. “Okay, enough’s enough,” he mumbles, his lips brushing against Steve’s with every word. “If you don’t quit that now, we’ll never be able to stop.” Steve laughs, pushing his nose against Bucky’s and slides his hand around Bucky’s waist so he arches his back a little. “No, really— _really_ , quit it! You’re going to be the death of me. I need to go check on Ada.”

-

Sunday is a blur of matzah ball soup, animated movies with the volume turned down low, and stolen kisses while Ada is otherwise occupied; by the end of the day Steve’s exhausted and keyed-up in equal measures, hyper-aware of Bucky’s body in all the points it touches Steve’s, the arch of his foot propped against Steve’s calf, his other ankle between Steve’s two. They’re lying at opposite ends of the couch, Adrienne finally alert between them, drinking juice and watching _Lilo & Stitch_ with wide excited eyes.

Still, even though she whines, they put her to bed early, hoping that she’ll feel well enough to go back to school in the morning. As soon as Steve’s pulled her bedroom door shut behind her Bucky grabs him, crowding him up against the wall and mouthing at his neck.

Steve turns his face in towards Bucky’s, and they kiss like that for minutes or an hour, Steve’s not sure, slouched there against the wall. It’s leisurely in a way that Steve hasn’t been all day, and he thinks that he could do this forever. The heat in the pit of his belly is simmering, sustainable for the moment.

Pulling back, Bucky nips at his lower lip and slides his mouth around toward Steve’s ear. “Come to bed with me,” he murmurs, his warm fingers sneaking under the hem of Steve’s shirt and splaying across his lower back.

And _oh_ , Steve wants to. But Bucky’s voice is still distinctly stuffed-up, and it’s barely even eight o’clock, and the last thing he needs is for Adrienne to walk in on them in flagrante because she can’t fall asleep.

So, gently, he pushes at Bucky’s chest, smiling apologetically when Bucky gives him a hurt look. “I want to,” he says. Bucky licks his red lips and his mind whites out for a second. “ _Shit_ , do I want to. But. We both need rest.”

Bucky wrinkles his nose, screwing up his mouth a little. His hands are still on Steve’s skin, and he presses his thumbs over the jut of Steve’s hips. “You have _way_ more self-control than you should,” Bucky finally says, and leans close again so he can hold onto Steve, tuck his face into his neck. Steve knows if he was feeling well, he’d put up more of a fight. He rubs his palms over Bucky’s back and kisses the side of his head; they lean there against the wall for another several moments.

Finally, he nudges Bucky away. “You want any more to eat?” he asks, hand at the small of Bucky’s back to guide him toward the kitchen. When Bucky shakes his head, he smiles at him. “Too bad. I think you should have a grapefruit.”

As Steve opens the fridge to pull out a grapefruit, Bucky slides up onto a bar stool and props his chin on his hands. “If I promise to behave,” he says, and Steve pauses, his knife poised to cut through the fruit in his hand, “Will you skip the guest bedroom tonight? I won’t—won’t do anything. But I want you to spend the night with me.” He says these last words in a rush.

Trying not to smile, Steve leans against the countertop. “You’ll keep your hands to yourself?”

Bucky goes red. “Um, I mean, I’ll—I’ll do my best,” he says, and then laughs in a nervous, slightly manic way. “But—you gotta know. It’s not going to be easy.”

“Believe me, I know,” Steve agrees. He lets his eyes trail over the line of Bucky’s throat, his chest, and revels in the darkening flush of his skin for a moment before looking down at the grapefruit and cutting into it. If Bucky’s going to torture him, well—he can torture him right back.

-

Steve wakes in the dark, his legs tangled with Bucky’s. He’s aching hard, and, shifting an inch, he feels more than hears a rumbling groan where their sides meet. Stifling a yawn, he turns his face, peeks his eyes open; Bucky is looking at him already. He licks his lips and Steve rolls a little, pressing his body more against Bucky’s. The arm around his back shifts up, Bucky’s hand cupping the back of his neck, and he pulls him forward into a kiss.

“Oh,” Steve manages to mumble, then he’s pulled tight into Bucky’s arms, their bodies aligned so that Steve can feel the heat of him all the way along his front. He turns his face up as Bucky props himself on one arm, kissing at Bucky’s chin. Bucky kisses him again, leaning over him, his fingers trailing lightly down Steve’s side, along his hip and down toward his knee. Gently, he hooks his fingers in the crook of Steve’s knee and guides him open so he can press his thigh between Steve’s.

Moaning, Steve presses forward, sucking on Bucky’s tongue as he grinds along the hard line of his thigh. Bucky lets out a harsh breath against his mouth; they shift together into a slow roll against one another, Steve chasing Bucky’s tongue to see if he can taste his moans.

He’s lost in this hazy bliss, Bucky all around him, his smell, his taste, his fingers catching at Steve’s hair and hip and skin, when a harsh buzzing splits the moment. Steve nearly leaps out of his skin; Bucky, his thigh trapped still between Steve’s, groans in frustration and pulls back, rolling as much as he can and pulling a pillow over his face. “Fuck,” he mutters, almost lost under the pillow and the alarm. Steve’s not exactly prepared to let go of him just yet. “Fuck, fuck, _fuck_.”

After another second or so, he tosses the pillow aside, stretches further and slaps at the alarm clock until it goes silent. Steve watches the lines of his body, the planes of his muscles under the city lights that are still the only light. He moves closer, pressing his mouth to the skin stretched over Bucky’s collarbone. Bucky turns back to Steve, pulling him up into a kiss, and for a moment they lie like that, nose-to-nose, Bucky’s fingertips petting through Steve’s hair.

Then, seeming both to move at once, they pull apart. “Time to check on the girlie,” Bucky says, smiling a little, sounding better than he had the night before. He looks at Steve for another long second before sitting up.

Steve rolls to the other side of the bed and sits up too. His erection has abated, mostly, though he’s pretty sure it’s not far gone. Stretching, he pulls the hoodie Bucky’d lent him back on and gets up, following Bucky to the door. Rather than turning left with him to head toward Adrienne’s room, he goes straight, toward the kitchen. “I’ll get breakfast started.”

-

After a tense breakfast, over which Steve and Bucky share many lingering glances, it’s decided that Steve should take Ada to school while Bucky gets ready for work. While Ada’s collecting all her stuff, Bucky backs Steve up against the front door and kisses him until he can barely breathe. Then, releasing him with one last nip at his mouth, he pads off toward the bedroom. Steve leans there until Adrienne reappears, catching his breath.

In the elevator back up to the Barneses’ apartment, Steve considers his day. Bucky has probably already left for work. Maybe he’ll grab his stuff and run back out to Brooklyn, use his own shower, change his clothes. Then he can stop at a grocery store on his way back to pick up Ada.

He’s still thinking about it, planning, when he unlocks the front door, and so he actually jumps when the doorknob jerks and then is pulled out of his hand. Bucky, still wearing his sweats, gets a hand in the front of Steve’s jacket and drags him inside.

“No more interruptions,” he mutters into Steve’s mouth, closing the door and backing him up against it.

“Oh, fuck,” Steve manages, because _damn_ , he’s always liked being manhandled. He’s zero to one hundred in half a second; so hard, so fast that if Bucky wasn’t holding him up, he might actually have fallen over. He’s been on edge for way too long. Bucky moans in response, his hands traveling up and down and back up until they find the zip of Steve’s jacket. He doesn’t seem to be in much better shape; biting hard at Steve’s mouth, he begins to grind up on him as he unzips the jacket.

Between them, they manage to get Steve’s jacket and hoodie unzipped, but then Bucky gives up, sucking marks down Steve’s chest as he gets on his knees. Steve trembles, panting, as Bucky cups his crotch in one hand, kissing at the space below Steve’s belly button.

“Oh, shit, oh, _shit_ ,” Steve breathes. Bucky looks up at him, grey-brown eyes blown, and smiles, his lips red and wet. Steve’s legs give out; he slides down the door until he’s sitting on Bucky’s knees, Bucky’s body bracketed between his thighs.

Bucky rubs a hand over his knee and then up the outside of his thigh. “Don’t you want me to suck you off?” he asks, a smirk pulling at the side of his mouth like he knows what effect these words are going to have.

Leaning forward, Steve kisses him. He wants to taste these words. “Fuck, I want—I want it all.” For a second, he chases Bucky’s tongue, unable to help himself. “But right now…right now I want you in me.”

Now it’s Bucky’s turn to groan. He clutches at Steve’s hips and they lose time there, on the floor, making out like teenagers, rutting against one another. Steve manages to get Bucky’s shirt off, even while he’s being distracted by Bucky’s mouth on his nipples.

Steve’s desperate by the time Bucky sits back, hand cupping Steve’s jaw, thumb rubbing over Steve’s mouth. He closes his lips around it, licking over Bucky’s thumbprint, and Bucky sways in again, kissing him, his thumb holding Steve’s mouth open for him. “Let’s go to bed,” Bucky murmurs, eyes stuck on Steve’s lips.

Steve nods and watches as Bucky gets up, holding his thumb between his lips as long as possible before Bucky pulls back to help him up. Holding hands, they head for the bedroom.

The bed is a pool of sun-warmed white sheets and too many pillows. They stand together in the doorway looking in, hands still clasped. For a long moment, neither of them speaks or moves; then Steve turns into Bucky, gets a hand around the back of his neck and kisses him.

Bucky’s hands find Steve’s waist, and suddenly everything crystalizes, turning to a slow honey drip. Carefully, trying not to break the kiss, Steve steps backward, drawing Bucky with him. His fingertips slide down over Steve’s ass, tripping over his back pockets, and Steve, his calves pressing against the side of the bed, picks up one leg and hooks his heel around Bucky’s knee. When he makes a calculated fall back onto the bed, Bucky’s leg lands between his, and again Steve thinks about getting himself off on his thigh.

They kiss for a few seconds, Steve grinding himself upward, before Bucky sits up, hands on Steve’s shoulders to keep him from following. He reaches down, palms at Steve’s crotch, and then he leans down to breathe into Steve’s ear: “I want you naked. Now.”

Trying not to let on exactly how much that command turns him on, Steve does as he’s told, though he’s shaking so hard it takes him several tries to get his zip down. Bucky watches, chewing at his lip, and when Steve’s finally naked, he gets up off the bed and drops his sweats to the floor.

Steve sits up, a hand around the back of Bucky’s neck, and tows him back in so that they’re kissing once more. He lets Bucky lay him back, explore the shape of his hips with his fingertips; mouths at his chest as Bucky stretches up  to dig in the bedside drawer; opens himself to Bucky in every way he knows how.

It’s overwhelming, Bucky pressing into him. He’s held stretched between Bucky’s two hands, one spanning his hip, the fingers of the other between Steve’s own, pressed to the pillow next to his head. He arches his back, heels pushing against the mattress so his belly rubs along Bucky’s. Bucky moans, nips at Steve’s lips and rolls his hips all the harder. Gasping, Steve digs his fingers into Bucky’s hair and drags him in for a kiss, his insides coiling tight.

With Bucky inside him, outside him, against him and no way to tell where his body ends and Bucky’s begins, it’s like running straight off a cliff, of suddenly having nothing under his feet, and he takes the leap with eyes wide open. The world goes white for several seconds, and when he starts to breathe again Bucky’s boneless on top of him, breathing hard.

Finally Steve manages to make his limbs work; he gets both arms around Bucky and yawns. Bucky hums into his ear, and Steve turns his head so their mouths brush. It’s not a kiss, not quite, though lips and tongues and teeth are involved, and after several seconds, Bucky runs a hand up Steve’s side and opens his eyes.

In the weak January sunlight, his eyes are more green than grey and more gold than brown. His mouth is slick. He grins at Steve, and Steve smiles back, and then—

Bucky sneezes.

**Author's Note:**

> come and chat with me on my [tumblr](http://rooonil-waazlib.tumblr.com)?


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